Let me get used to the real world,
I'm older now.
I'm no longer battling whatever's in my mind,
I feel foreign here.
I can't think of them,
Or the things that are beyond me.
This place is very pretty,
The grass is sweet and soft,
The river is blue, and sparkles in the sunlight,
The animals run after each other,
The cows graze slowly.
I am here.
Safe.
Can you believe it?
YOU ARE READING
When the Past Let Go of Me
PoetryA poem or two about healing from PTSD and wanting to start a new life. My PTSD won't completely go away, but my symptoms have been brought down to where I can enjoy life again. Even though I'm healing and don't want to remember it, I can't deny that...
